D is for Drunk (14 page)

Aidan blushed again. Maybe it was the lighting. She touched a pair of handcuffs with one finger, calculating. One side was handcuffed to a pole next to the wall, and the other side was free. Really, it was going to be all about speed.

“What’s this thing?” She pointed to a dot on the wall next to the pole.

When Aidan came over to look, she grabbed his wrist and handcuffed him to the pole.

She stepped out of reach and grinned at him. “Gotcha.”

“Not funny,” he said.

Watching him stand there and glare at her in the dungeon room was the funniest thing she’d seen in a long time.

“Stop laughing,” he said. “And help me out of this.”

“What’s the magic word?” she asked.

“Sofia! Damn it, let me out.”

That didn’t sound very magical. “Remember when you handcuffed me at the office and I had to pick the lock while talking to clients?”

“Please.” He turned his big blue eyes on her. That usually worked.

She looked on the wall next to him. “I don’t see a key.”

Aidan went through a long string of curse words. He sure hadn’t learned those from his dad.

“I have a bobby pin,” she said. “I carry one in my wallet all the time now.”

She took it out, bent it forty-five degrees, and handed it to him. He started working on the lock.

“Are you sure you can get it open?” she asked.

“Of course I can,” he said. “I’m not an infant.”

She walked back over to the door. She felt a little guilty at abandoning him here handcuffed to a wall, but he had it coming, and he’d get the lock open faster than she would. She opened the door a crack.

“I think the band is louder than before,” she called over her shoulder.

“They’re definitely louder than the string quartet at the Grigoryan’s house.” Aidan crowded next to her. He was fast with the lock picking. Too bad.

The noise of the band abruptly cut off as if a plug had been pulled.

“Let’s go see what that’s about,” Aidan said.

“Not worried about getting a reputation for poor stamina?” she asked.

He gave her a withering look and headed down the hall. She closed the door carefully and followed.

Marcel stood in front of the stage with his back to them waving his arms and yelling at a policeman. Marcel was completely naked, and his butt was as tan as the rest of him. He must sunbathe in the nude. That fit with his personality—no point in hiding any part of his perfect body.

She picked up the pace. She didn’t want to miss a second of this.

“—my own land,” Marcel said. “I can do as I wish here.”

“Please put some pants on, sir.” The policeman was young, early twenties, with a blond crewcut. His face was bright red. He clearly wasn’t used to dealing with naked Frenchmen.

“I shall not.” Marcel crossed his arms across his bare chest. His semi-erect penis bounced whenever he moved, like a little exclamation point at the end of each sentence.

“As I said before, we’ve had some noise complaints.” The officer was trying to stay on task. She felt sorry for him.

“Precisely one, I imagine.” Annabelle came out of the house with Rick Pankhurst in tow. She was fully dressed. Even her hair looked perfect. It probably always did. “Grigoryan Vineyards.”

“Do you have a permit for a rock band?” The police officer turned to speak to her, probably to stop Marcel’s you-know-what from pointing straight at him. “At this time of day—”

“Do we have a permit?” Annabelle asked Marcel. His penis got a little more confident. “
Mon cochon?”

Sofia was pretty sure her endearment meant ‘my pig.’ Not the sweetest term.

“We do not need such a thing,” Marcel answered. “This is a free country.”

“Technically,” Aidan said. “There are all kinds of laws.”

Marcel turned his glare and his bouncing penis toward Aidan. Aidan stepped back a pace.

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Aidan said.

“It is my property and my cock. I shall point it wherever I wish,” Marcel answered.

“
Vive la nudité
!” Sofia called out.

Marcel gave a single sharp nod, and Annabelle smiled. The cop ran his hand through his bristly crew cut.

“Not helpful,” Aidan said. “Anti-helpful.”

A Mercedes tore up the driveway. Narek drove and a frowning Milena sat in the passenger’s seat. Everyone’s attention shifted from Marcel to the car.

Narek screeched to a stop and jumped out. He strode across the driveway shaking his fist. His barrel chest stuck out like a rooster’s.

Someone ought to make a reality TV show out of this. They could pixelate out the bits that couldn’t be shown on TV. They could call it
Virile Vineyards
. She bet her agent, Jeffrey, could pitch it and make a fortune.

Milena trundled up behind Narek. She took a good long look at Marcel, and his penis wilted. That relationship was definitely over. Milena’s frown deepened, but Annabelle smiled.

“How does it feel?” Narek asked. “To be treated as you would treat me?”

“You spout nonsense. As usual.” Marcel uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists.

“You call the police on a string quartet,” Narek said. “But you’re surprised when I do the same after you have set up a rock and roll band and a stage? People can hear you all the way down to Malibu. You break the law, and you don’t care. And now I will watch you get what you deserve.”

Narek brought up his fists, too. If Sofia were going to bet, she’d bet on Narek. He looked stronger and angrier, but Marcel had reach on him, so it might be an even match.

Milena took an uncertain step toward her husband. She’d probably come along to keep him out of trouble while he watched the cops cite Marcel.

“Let’s take this down a notch.” The policeman stepped between the two vineyard owners. “How about you wait in your car, sir? I’ll issue a noise citation, and we can all go back to our evening’s fun?”

Not very decisive, Sofia thought, and apparently the vineyard owners agreed, because neither budged an inch.

Milena looked around at the party, and her gaze ended up on Annabelle.

“We’ve never missed a party,” she said in a sad voice.

Annabelle raised a single, imperious eyebrow and gave Milena a look cold enough to freeze white wine.

“I will accept no citation,” Marcel said. “This
boudin
cannot bring down the law on me.”

What was a
boudin
? She wanted to whip out her phone and look it up, but she didn’t want to miss any of the drama. Whatever it meant, it must have been bad, because Narek popped Marcel right in the nose.

Marcel swung wildly back at him. Narek grabbed ahold of Marcel’s dong and yanked on it like he was starting a lawnmower. Marcel let out a squeal that made him sound like his pet name, the little pig.

CHAPTER 23

A 
idan jumped forward and grabbed Narek and dragged him back. As soon as Aidan pinned Narek’s arms, Marcel jumped forward and punched Narek right in the face. It wasn’t very sporting, but Narek had rung his doorbell, so she could see where he was coming from. The policeman seemed to think so too, because he let Marcel land a couple of punches before he intervened and got Marcel’s arms behind his back. She noted that Aidan had gone for the guy wearing clothes, not the naked one, and saved that up for some future joke.

Milena rushed over to Marcel, her round face crumpled with worry.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

Narek snarled, and Aidan tightened his grip. Sofia couldn’t blame Narek for being angry about that. After all, Milena was Narek’s wife, and she ought to be checking on him first.

Annabelle pushed Milena away. “See to your own husband. I shall see to mine.”

Annabelle pulled a white cotton handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at Marcel’s bloody nose. Perfectly dressed, and she carried a hankie. She was a casting director’s dream.

“Do you need some ice?” Annabelle asked. “For your own little self?”

That was a good euphemism, and Sofia made a mental note to remember it.

Milena still didn’t go over to Narek. She stared at Marcel. He ignored her completely.

“I’ll kill you,” Narek said, presumably to Marcel. “You’ve taken all you will take from me.”

“I take only that which is freely given.” Marcel glanced at Milena and then back at Narek. He smiled. “Most freely.”

Narek lunged, but Aidan had a pretty good grip on him. He was trying to pull him back toward the car, but Narek was resisting and trying to get to Marcel. Aidan was pretty strong, but Narek had weight on his side.

“Easy now,” Aidan said. “Let’s go sit in the car and think things over a bit.”

“He’s stealing my water!” Narek roared. “Thousands of dollars worth.”

“You’re stealing that from me,” Marcel answered. “As you well know.”

“Let’s all calm down.” The policeman was trying again. Sofia admired his persistence.

Aidan did something to his foot that made Narek stumble which gave him the leverage he needed, and he dragged Narek toward his car, one resisting step at a time. Milena followed without once looking at her husband.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” the cop asked Marcel when Aidan and Narek were halfway across the parking lot. “No attacking.”

“I was most grievously provoked,” Marcel said.

Nobody could disagree with that.

“I understand that, sir,” the officer said. “But I won’t let you go until you show me you can be calm.”

“I shall be tranquil,” said Marcel.

The young officer loosened his grip on Marcel, and Marcel stood still. He glared at Narek, but he didn’t start toward him.

“I will fetch some ice.” Annabelle brushed past Rick Pankhurst and went into the house.

Pankhurst looked as if he was biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling. Most of the rest of the crowd wasn’t even trying. Grins and chuckles broke out everywhere. It had been quite a show.

“Excuse me,” called a tiny voice from under the stage.

Sofia bent over and looked into the darkness. A flash of skin, a mop of blond hair. “Bambi?”

“Do you have any clothes?” Bambi asked. “I can’t find my dress.”

Sofia looked around the area in front of the stage. No fawn-colored dress. “Where did you leave it?”

“Over by the speaker.” Bambi pointed a long tanned arm.

The speakers, Sofia noticed, were aimed straight at the Grigoryan’s vineyard. Definitely a provocation.

“I took my clothes off there, and then we went in front of the stage,” Bambi said. “But I hid under here when the police arrived and the music stopped.”

No clothes on top of the speaker. Sofia searched the ground.

“No dress here,” Sofia said.

Bambi swore. “That’s where it should be.”

“Somebody must have taken it.” Someone was stealing water and clothes. It was a larcenous vineyard. “I have a sweatshirt in the car. It’s not much.”

“I’ll take it,” Bambi said.

Sofia hurried over to the car and came back with a heather-gray hoodie. She held it under the stage, and Bambi pulled it out of her grip.

“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you one.”

Sofia tried to think of a situation where Bambi could pay her back by giving her clothes when she was naked at a concert. She hoped that wouldn’t come up. “Don’t worry about it.”

She turned away to give Bambi some privacy and looked at the scene in front of her.

Annabelle had come back, and now Marcel wore a pair of red, white, and blue Speedos. He pressed a white bag against his French flag. She looked again—frozen peas. That didn’t seem very sophisticated. Didn’t they make frozen truffles?

Annabelle talked to her husband. Pankhurst leaned against the wall holding a cigarette. Most of the other party guests had disappeared inside, probably to keep away from the cop or to hide the drugs.

Milena leaned against the Mercedes, looking furious, while Narek gesticulated at Aidan. From the long-suffering expression on Aidan’s face, she guessed he was trying to calm Narek down. He’d only been partly successful, but at least he’d made a start.

The police officer was talking to the band, and they were packing their instruments into battered black cases at double time tempo. Looked like the party was over. Someone must have hit the wrong switch, because a high-pitched squeal came out of the speakers. The sound quickly cut off.

“What was that?” Bambi climbed out from under the stage. The sweatshirt was supposed to end at her waist, but she yanked it down further to cover up her lady bits. Sofia wondered if the sweatshirt would ever go back to its original shape.

Before Sofia could answer, Annabelle sprinted toward the stables. Pankhurst was on her heels. Sofia headed after them. Something that got Annabelle upset was bound to be interesting.

As she got close to the stable, Sofia heard neighing and crashing. The horse sounded as if she was smashing the stall apart from the inside out. What had set her off? The band? Was it that last squeal from the speakers, or had she been this upset since the band started to play and no one had noticed? Poor horse, sacrificed to Marcel and Narek’s petty rivalries.

Sofia paused by the open door. It could be dangerous in there, if the horse had spooked and gotten loose. She pushed the door all the way open and peered through.

The light was on. Annabelle stood in front of the horse. Percy’s ears were back and the mare was trembling, but at least she wasn’t smashing against the sides of the stall anymore.

Annabelle held out one hand and began to sing in French. Sofia didn’t recognize the words, but it sounded like a lullaby. Pankhurst was further away, watching the woman and the horse. Sofia stayed where she was. Annabelle knew what she was doing, and another person might make things worse.

As she sang, Annabelle slowly moved closer to Percy until she was close enough to touch her. Percy’s ears came forward, and her head lowered. Annabelle reached up and stroked her neck. She stopped singing and started murmuring. Sofia couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it sounded French and sweet.